The many faces of a Wasteland Wanderer
by Canned-Charisma
Summary: My four, very different, Wanderers and their adventure that leads them to one another. Following main quest line, with added goodies such as the mysterious Nuclear York.


"That little Vault bitch has been ruining everything." Spike muttered, violently bringing his shot glass to the table.

A few partly shaven heads looked up at the washed up Raider King. Somberly drinking down their own eradiated beverage. A few mumbles of agreement answered him. The unbalanced, poorly sanded table under them rocked with ever movement. The dim light from the fire cast uneven shadows on the scene.

Spike was the leader of a small band of misfit raiders. There were only six of them at a time. Rumor has it that Spike was the Devil and would personally kill the seventh guy if a new, better slob joined.

"Boss the disc-jockey says she's the best thing for this hell hole. Shouldn't we be helping her?"

Spike glared at the new kid, '_This asshole again? Damn what was his name? Ranchy? Raunchy?_'

"Idiot he's just glad she's out there fighting his 'good fight' she probably wouldn't know how to fire that pretty little shotgun of hers if it wasn't for that ghoul."

Spike's 'personal favorite' always puts the new kids in their place. That wasn't her only duty though. She's considered a high-class ex-assassin for some fable of an empire ran by exiled Vaulties that's supposedly wasting away in the wastes of Nuclear York. What had she called it? Babylon maybe, something that meant immortality.

"I'm just saying, if she's getting us clean water shouldn't we help?" He asked slightly confused.

Poor kid, had to be eighteen at the most. How he ended up in Inferno was a nothing short of dumb luck. Spike looked back from his young face, greasy, shaggy, green hair, to the faces of the other members of Inferno.

Lou, the second oldest member, looked just as harsh as a charging Deathclaw. The black Mohawk and graying beard only made it look more real. When he was after victims they wish a Deathclaw was chasing after them.

Sissy, the only other girl member, was a heartless bitch. Nothing more and nothing less, the lighting in the small room didn't help soften her features none either. She looked ratty with the only hair on the sides of her head loosely tied in to orange pigtails.

Rod whose face always had a sad, bored expression was drinking deep into the whiskey supply tonight. Some bitch must have rejected him again, he must have killed the bitch. He had one strip of greasy blond hair in the center of his head, not really what the dames look for.

Then there was Tuzu, personal favorite and ex-assassin. Her face was partly hidden behind large goggles and greasy brown hair, bright green eyes staring blankly at the table. What went through her mind was for her to hear and the victims to never see.

"She may be gettin' clean water but she's also getting it for those scum bag Steels, Ghouls and Muties. I'm not sharen' with no shufflers." Sissy's raucous voice echoed in the room. God how Spike hated her.

"Tuzu." Spike spoke gruffly, picking up her attention.

"Yes?"

"I want you to keep tabs on this Vault bitch, leave tonight." She nodded as he spoke, standing up from her ratty chair, and taking the handle of her bag of weapons.

She turned to leave before Spike spoke again, "Keep her alive. I need as much information as possible. Befriend her if you have to, once she trusts you bring her here, and if you fail to do this."

A pregnant pause as she stopped walking.

The Misfits of Inferno knew how Spike was. To 'boost' moral he was prone to threaten and torture anyone doing worst then the best. Confusing yes, effective no. Sometimes the best would get beat or worst. This was one of those cases.

"Don't come back to Inferno, you won't be welcome and shot on sight."

She clenched her fist before opening the make shift door and leaving.

* * *

><p>It was another late night in Rivet City. The stars glistened off the rusting ship like dew on, what little was left of, sidewalks.<p>

The Muddy Rudder was just about empty, Bell Bonnie, her guard and a dame were left.

"Don't you got anywhere else to be?" Bell Bonnie asked, slightly annoyed at the young women seated in front of her.

"Nope, not till morning anyway." The women answered, staring blankly through tinted sunglasses.

"Its morning now ain't it?"

The women glanced down at her Pip-Boy.

Well not hers really. The aged piece of luxury had once belonged to her great grandmother back when she lived in a Vault. It was passed down to the daughter of the family since her passing. The names have changed but the dents and scratches stayed.

Sure enough, the green text read '12:08 Am'

"Look, I'd hate to leave this, lovely, little oasis of hops and grain with a full pocket of caps." A twisted smile as the women placed about fifty caps in front of her.

"Monroe, you're a devious bastard, but I can't say no to a poor girl with no place to go." Bonnie pocketed the caps and walked from behind the counter, "Its late, I'll be heading in."

Monroe nodded sipping her glass of whiskey. The drink burned her throat with familiar warmth.

"I know your 'renounced' for your luck, but so help me God if anything's gone I'll hunt you down myself."

"Fair enough, sweet dreams." She mused, running a hand through her platinum blond twin Mohawks.

An hour or so past before the door to the Muddy Rudder opened.

Curious Monroe tipped her shades at the approaching man and squinted.

"Rob?"

The man sat down besides her, hair slicked back in a pompadour, skin as tan as a Hispanic could be, and hazel eyes to die for.

"Monroe, have you heard of the little Vault girl?" Robert asked, tipping his white fedora towards her.

Such a gentlemen, even in a Hellish after math of Nuclear war on humanity.

"101? Yeah who hasn't heard of her." She causally said pushing some fringe from her face.

Robert and Monroe have been thick as thieves ever since they met. Monroe stumbled to the Capitol Wasteland ever since Nuclear York went down in flames. Robert, a native to D.C, welcomed the poor gal with open arms. Hey, its not everyday a lucky bastard like Monroe loses her whole family in flames and manages to fight her way into D.C for civilization and a pint to drink. Kid had moxie, Robert respected that.

"Well she's said to come to good ol' Rivet City to look for her dad." He said eagerly.

A curious expression crossed Monroe's face, "Rob…your not…into her are you?"

A serious expression came to fight off her curious one, "Well…yeah a little. So what?"

"I thought you were as gay as the day."

"And I thought you weren't as corny as Kansas in August."

Both laughed as they, verse by verse, spoke their favorite song. Simple things like that were so rare to do these days.

"Seriously thought, Monroe, she sounds like the type of girl that should be protected instead of paving the way for humanity."

"Word is she has a ghoul doing the protecting for her." Monroe shrugged as she spoke.

"I know that but…I feel like she's doing a lot and we should repay her somehow." He mused picking at a hole near the collar of his Merc. Grunt shirt.

"Tell you what, were big bad mercenaries, ask to tag along." Monroe said, standing from her chair and adjusting her Merc. Cruiser jacket.

"What about you?"

"Someone already hired me, I'm meeting with her in," She checked her Pip-Boy, "Two hours from now."

"Who?"

"Some gal I used to know, she knows how lucky I can be."

With a smirk from Monroe and nod from Robert, the two partners in crime parted ways.

* * *

><p><strong>~*~ So, first Chapter, trying to get a more serious writing style, R&amp;R guys I need to know how I'm doing! ~*~<strong>


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